The plane touches down in Palermo on a mild, sun-spattered afternoon. As airports go, you can certainly do worse than this one. A sheer limestone cliff rears up on one side of the tarmac; on the other, the Mediterranean spreads its blue cloth out as far as we can see. Though Palermo was meant to be the briefest of stops en route to Tunisia, I’ve gotten used to the idea, in recent days, of spending a bit more time around Sicily. Watching a parade of dark-haired, high-heeled beauties boarding the plane before me, it’s an idea that’s quickly finding a cozy nook in my noggin. It takes all of 20 minutes for events to settle the matter for me. Along with my heart and a long trail of credit card receipts, it seems my backpack’s
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